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I would like an intercourse with you.
This is the beginning of "The Rapist", a short story by Vaino Vahing.
With his short story "Étude", Vahing became infamous.
One of his famous short stories is "Étude",
constantly discussed in "Endspiel" and elsewhere,
where they travel to Taevaskoja
in the end of 1960's with his well-known girlfriend
and in order to find out if she really loves him
or is it just a whim, he takes the girlfriend down,
stuffs her mouth with grass and soil and runs away to the forest
and ultimately takes the train back alone.
We went to Taevaskoja and everything was fine,
until Vaino suddenly attacked me, tackled me down
and stuffed moss into my mouth,
and when I tried to get up, he tackled me down again.
It was very frightening for me,
but who's used to this sort of things anyway.
So I grew curious about what's behind all this.
Then he wrote a story about it, and naturally, it got some feedback.
It was so different from what the literature was these days.
I has always been his style.
Everything seems to be real, but strangely out of joint,
and it gives his creations certain extraordinary air.
Since then, I have started to grow thicker skin regarding these things,
I'm trying to keep things apart. Even what's in his "Diaries"...
Well, I saw things differently, very differently at times,
but I'm granting Vaino his right
to write about it as he has seen and wished.
THE DIARY OF VAINO VAHING
We are in village Aravu,
and Vaino was born in this house on 15. February 1940.
It was a very cold winter.
His father was a very skilful worker,
his mother was of the worrying type.
She was worried about Vaino.
Even when I came here, she observed Vaino and me and our relationship.
In short, Vaino was in her heart.
This is my city, our city. I came here myself, no one invited me.
I came as a boy as many have come, and will come in future.
Vaino left home in very young age,
he went to Tartu to study when he was 14, to medical school,
and maybe this early independence,
I think he has written in his "Diary" that he actually cried at some point
when he realised that he's so lonely in this world.
It was quite common back then.
It's so difficult to understand now, but that's how it used to be.
Children went to cities to study
and Vaino went to medical school not as much out of interest,
but, as he has told me, because there was scholarship available.
You had to pay for high school back then,
but in medical school, you got paid.
At first, I tried, I liked surgery
and until my third year, I studied surgery,
but then I took interest in psychiatry.
Why? Maybe because it seemed to be the closest to psychology,
the most social and as it has turned out, the most political field.
And undoubtedly, the most abstract.
A surgeon can operate on someone without knowing the patient's name,
but a psychiatrist must know the patient very well.
This small room belonged to Leida, the sister of Vaino's father Artur.
She was mentally challenged, didn't talk too much.
And with Vaino, she somehow had a special relationship.
Vaino seldom hugged or patted someone,
but with Leida, they had this sort of physical contact.
One of the reasons why Vaino became a psychiatrist
may lie in Leida,
or maybe in an interest towards her.
1. July 1968
How's it going? - Better now.
Where are you? - In Kehtna.
How's your sleep? - Summer.
But who am I?
I think you may be small.
Tartu was swarming with loonies,
there were Train-Uncle and Rooster-Auntie, and The Crowers...
Oddly clothed characters were visible in the city,
but they were harmless, they did no harm to anyone,
and it was somehow so enriching and nice, but now they are scarce.
The city is degrading. There's less madness in the city.
I painted a portrait of Vahing,
with this blue glass ball, it refers to psychiatry.
Psychiatry is a refuge where you hide from the world.
I'll study psychiatry, so maybe I'll find out what's wrong with others
and it'll be easier for me.
It's easier for me, see, this one is a hunchback, that one is a cripple,
that one is a thief,
that one is sex crazed and so on.
So, see, my own trouble is not so bad at all.
So it's a messy business, psychiatry.
For a long time, three years at least,
I didn't know about his literature fascination.
It was hidden from me.
And when the "Diary" was published, then I realised
that he wrote simultaneously with working at the hospital.
He was in our lab almost every day.
This is the thesis by Vaino Arturovich Vahing, 200 pages:
"The Effect of Psychotropic Substances
to the Central Functions of Acetylcholine,
Serotonin and Noradrenalin."
Thanks to this thesis, the mechanism of action of Imipramine and Amitriptyline,
the antidepressants used back then, became significantly clearer.
So in that sense, the tests on cats were rather illustrative.
Influencing electrically the brain mechanism of the test animal,
they can make it walk,
to excite or calm.
Scientist Lembit Allikmets is looking for new ways
to influence brain activity.
Push of the button, and the patient feels appetite for food.
We did mostly behavioural tests.
We inserted electrodes or needles to the exact spots in brain structure
of the test animals, rabbits or cats.
Where did you get the cats from? - From the city.
And from the region of lake Peipsi. Vahing and his father arranged them.
You caught them yourselves? - No, there were...
We paid money for cats. University sent a car, and...
We extracted the cat's brain,
so we were interested in heads only.
We didn't always even need to cut the head off,
but the cat was dead, of course. It was executed under anaesthesia.
The most complicated test was done to a decapitated cat,
a cat without head, but blood still flowing.
12. July 1972
I have killed 152 cats.
Afterwards, I had dreams of a cat running towards me for six months.
Wanting to claw me. They say that it is easier to conduct tests on rats,
but cat is more emotional,
you can get aggression, anxiety, fear on it.
I'm afraid.
Mental institutions were a big issue.
Many people in Russia are not jailed but put into mental institution.
What do you do then? A minister, to a madhouse.
Vahing was called up to huge cases,
so who do you represent? What do you decide?
Looking back, the profession was strongly despised.
A court psychiatrist was able to declare dissidents insane.
Difficult job, really.
There may have been suggestions
to declare this or that person insane
or incapacitated to send him to the system of institutions
where there was no way out.
But I can say with 99% certainty that Vaino does not have this on him.
He did the job as honestly as ever possible.
22. April 1975
The husband is drinking.
And he has a good reason to,
as you have retaliated in a ghastly way, smothering his child at birth.
The husband is drinking. I know that.
But when a man has felt with every cell of his skin
how you wished to kill him, not to smother the newborn.
So you are on your own now,
because you have smothered your children
and you have no right to demand sobriety from your husband.
Your husband will not leave you,
because he has understood that you have fallen in love with him.
And when someone loves a man, then he will not leave.
I'm not in position to diagnose someone. I don't know.
I remember an article about Vaino and me
and the heading was "On Life with a Mad Genius".
Then I started to think that maybe I really lived with a mad genius.
How can we sit here and say that a psychiatrist is insane?
There was an understanding back then that all psychiatrists are insane.
19. January 1978
You know...
you, head-shrinker,
I have thought thoroughly and decided to stay with you.
But...
Someday, I'll set my conditions, too.
I think I'm silly.
The woman had to be a bit of a comrade, too.
He doesn't make a very different creature out of a woman,
women are still humans. Not "humans".
It's not like he is seeing an unequal or weak adversary in woman.
He sees her as an equal adversary.
11. April 1969
I'm so alone. - Why?
I'm alone with my little wishes.
And the wishes are?
Vaino refuses to go walking with me for the third day in a row,
refuses to come to the theatre.
The Old Anatomicum. Anatomical theatre.
We walked around, went to Toomemägi, and he brought me to the Anatomicum.
There were many interesting items here back then.
Heart of an alcoholic and different lungs and things like that.
He used to laugh at it, mocking himself, and present everything.
I don't think there was an autopsy going on at the moment.
We did not in fact live together.
When you come from a divorced family,
you always think why aren't your parents living together.
And it often seemed to me that now it's good, he came to visit us,
we talked, or he was at my wedding or whatever.
Everything was good and nice, but then suddenly he left or went away.
He would look at his watch and say that he has to catch his bus to Tartu.
But maybe he just sensed that there's no point to stay any longer,
he had experienced that good things never last forever.
There must have been some sort of dislocation in his childhood,
or a tragedy, or trouble,
anyway, these are just words bouncing around,
that there must have been something that dislocated him,
and he looked for a solution in psychiatry.
He was trying to find a solution for himself in psychiatry.
I didn't have any special relationship with my parents.
The sort of warm ones I have seen in films,
no kisses or hugs, I didn't have these.
I even regret it, but it was just against my nature.
You have no time for tenderness or gentleness
when you have three children and a farm to keep.
This was one big tragedy in Vaino's life.
Tragedy is actually too strong, but he missed all that.
They knew these feelings, but they never showed them.
18. November 1971
I have not hugged my mother or father since I was 8 or 9.
Have not kissed them.
I have been embarrassed to write "Dear Mom" or "Dear Dad".
And yet, in my first years in the city,
I have cried because I could not be with them.
12. July 1972
All stories are for crying,
just as 18 years ago, in the age of 14,
when, during the entrance exams to medical school,
I was suddenly overwhelmed with fear, a real angst,
that I will never have a father or a mother anymore.
Water flowed in a toilet, an unfamiliar sound for a country boy,
but I was under a blanket and cried the first real crying in my life.
24. January 1974
Memories again, memories that can't be played.
Because they are too pristine.
I have written: mother was beautiful...
Mother was beautiful?
Play that mother was beautiful!
Play, actor, that mother was beautiful!
I can't...
But where did you get your beauty? - I got it from women.
From women? - Yes.
I think women have educated me the most in my life.
I have had hard times with them, and trouble, but they are educating.
In his 'Diaries', he makes women his enemies, but none of us actually was.
But he always has to have suffering, a man has to suffer.
If I'm not suffering, then I invent it.
And a woman is one thing that makes you suffer.
And when she doesn't, then we'll make her to do it.
11. September 1969
I think you have intentionally avoided women
who give you strong orgastic experiences. You have left them.
How right he was!
I think I'm really afraid of having children,
afraid of a woman getting pregnant.
I'm like an idea pregnant man who will never give birth.
There was very much glamour in his life.
The cream of the 60's intelligentsia at the most rocking parties.
But if you read the "Diary" closely, there is a vast amount of tragedy.
He was a tragic character,
there is so much pain, loneliness,
getting stuck in creative sense.
Maybe he hoped that these plays with people
bring some existential clarity
or even good art, but he got stuck artistically, too.
30. December 1969
How depressing it is when your woman is envious, doesn't let you work.
Thank you, Vaino, for hating and loathing.
If there's so much loathing in you,
why are you so weak and can't break yourself free?
Vaino loathed the bourgeoisie officially and openly.
But let's be honest, he was not the type of poet
who lived out of the air and spirit and love, either.
1. January 1975
This is because you threatened to kill yourself.
Allow me, missis. I came to you as a friend.
No, I will not let you go to your husband.
Coward!
Everything is so disgusting that it makes you hang yourself.
I'm afraid of bourgeoisie.
I hate officers, everyday life, mothers in law!
He's dead.
29. August 1974
In Aravu. Mother said that her mother in law had told her off in Tallinn
for men drinking, for Vaino drinking every day. Yeah!
I can't even give a name for my mother in law.
Only reproach everywhere,
there's nothing in common with socialism in this sort of relationship.
What was it that bothered him? - I don't know.
Maybe a fear of being happy, really happy, thoroughly happy.
So it's easier to be unhappy? - It's safer to be unhappy.
Like, see, I'm unhappy and can make a martyr out of myself,
to suffer under the system or whatever.
One thing is to be a mental dissident,
to be a creator in a material society is different.
It's hard and difficult anyway.
People owe to a writer, right? - They totally owe.
Whatever a time it was, communism or early capitalism,
they always owe something, and come to think of it,
it may be a good idea, but they may stay in debt forever,
and does it make sense to claim this debt from the people at all?
Who would you claim it from? - From the state.
The state is a form of self-organising of the people.
Not as metaphorically that from the state, but...
People can be disturbing, the communists disturbed much,
not speaking of the KGB, but you still kept writing, we will keep writing.
Something else is more important,
for me, at least, something else is more important than this debt.
Could it be that he sacrificed himself to the literature.
Yes, I think so, but I guess he didn't take it as a sacrifice.
He just did it. He sacrificed everything to it,
his career as a doctor, he had a very promising career there,
he was a very good diagnostician, wrote his thesis.
And I think he also sacrificed all his relationships with opposite sex to it.
I tend to think that it was not a submission of life to art,
but submission of life to a metaphysical existentialist drive.
Nietzsche said that everything you write or do,
you must do with your own blood.
There's no point in conducting something just cultural,
to write criticism, articles or make theatre, write books.
You always do your own personal thing, it's called existentialism.
6. January 1969
What to write about?
About my dreams where I'm prevented to enter a sexual intercourse?
Or where, in order to enter an intercourse,
I have to throw a child out of 4th floor window,
to strangle an old man.
About that?
8. February 1970
Maybe you can't write anything beautiful
because you don't really love me.
But maybe it's the other way round?
Was Vaino envious when you started writing?
He was... How to put it... Envious may not be the right word.
He was baffled. He knew I had this interest.
Yes, he was baffled, but never commented anything I wrote,
not in any way. He just ignored it.
9. January 1971
You became a dilettante writer and it's difficult to stay on that level.
You haven't made your choice yet, you are writing into your drawer.
Into my drawer, until I'm sure I'll manage as a writer.
My wife does not want to read my stories. - But it's crap!
But you are reading Vetemaa!
As a writer, you are untalented.
I may be untalented and you talented, but I need to write.
I do know I can't write, everyone says that, including Unt.
But if you don't count me as a writer, why are you living with me?
Why don't you say stop?
Stop! Stop, yeah. Very good.
I remember visiting Tartu. Sometimes I went there, called him
that let's meet in this or that cafe, and we took a bottle of vodka.
It was terribly nice to talk.
Just discuss the matters of the world.
He was a good person to talk to. It's a rare quality.
14. March 1972
At night, they drank, made noise, shat all over the communal outhouse.
Come and see! See, that's a communal outhouse!
My heart will not stand to clean this outhouse.
When Müller shat all over, Ehin should have told me in the morning.
He went to toilet at 7.30, but didn't say a word.
And one thing he has written in an interesting way himself
and what I sense in the writings of my mother, also very good ones,
is that the most painful, most simple, the best pieces are about things
you have experienced yourself.
The stories he so to say made up, they are not as good.
He used to say that he didn't like made-up fantasy stories,
he liked it when a person had lived all of it.
For instance, historical novel was nonsense for him,
because the writer had not lived what he is writing about.
Excerpt from the short story "To a Small Town"
Son, try on these shoes of size 43.
Do you think I'm stupid, old man?
I knew yesterday that you didn't want to buy a suit.
Why'd you bring me here?
You wanted to come. I came with you.
If you don't know exactly why you came with me to the small town, don't say.
I'm not making you lie.
You don't say? You'll have the chance.
Leave me alone.
I'll stay at the countryside for the whole winter holiday.
I won't leave the village until you haven't told
why did you come to the small town.
Maybe because I have never been to the small town with you.
And then I realised that this is the type of writer I don't know yet,
haven't met before.
In his writings he somewhat copied life, somewhat changed it,
but always manipulating very boldly with real people.
29. December 1971
Son, try on these shoes of size 43.
Do you think I'm stupid, old man?
I knew yesterday that you didn't want to buy a suit.
Why'd you bring me here? - You wanted to come. I came with you.
If you don't know exactly why you came with me to the small town, don't say.
I'm not making you lie. You don't say? You'll have the chance.
Leave me alone.
I'll stay at the countryside for the whole winter holiday.
I won't leave the village until you haven't told
why did you come to the small town.
Maybe because I have never been to the small town with you.
I think Vahing provoked his mates and colleagues to go beyond borders.
And observed what will happen.
This was his special interest.
He was theatre mad, too. He went to the theatre very often,
this is in his 'Diaries', too, he was with practical theatre people.
They tried to invoke madness.
I remember these long hours in theatre studio,
these études and games there, going on until early hours.
You are tired enough from the day
and while doing these things then at night,
some other parts of you will come to play.
The notion of play or Spiel was a very important key word
in the theatre innovation of late 60's and early 70's.
A very important concept for Vahing was
that in a sense, play opens up our true nature
better than trying to behave very normally.
When we are behaving normally,
then we have all these social norms restricting us.
But when we set ourselves free as a child in playing,
then these masks will fall. And taking off these masks
was one of the principles of the theatre innovation,
one of the ideologists of which Vaino was.
Did he tear off people's masks?
I wouldn't say he wanted to tear them off.
He maybe wanted to open people in a different way.
He reproached me for that.
He understood that in that sense, I'm closed up.
He said that I never say what I think subconsciously,
that I always play some role.
People meet reality in borderline situations.
In complicated situation where tension is up to maximum.
Then the unimportant will part and you see what is really important.
He tried the resistance of the protective layer of a person,
and tried to penetrate it, to see the vulnerability of that person.
And Vahing cast his Jung and psychoanalytical way to people
into Estonian culture so visibly that when we are talking
about the coming of psychoanalysis into Estonian culture,
then Vahing is there like a huge rock.
My social role was now divided.
Namely, I'd count the roles I had then:
a practising psychiatrist, a young scientist and a beginning author.
I started knowingly to play with the social roles.
And I played a forest brother
in Peeter Simm's graduation film "Bush Devil".
The film was shot in Lihula.
At the same time, I had lectures in the university,
I supervised practical lessons and was in the shootings in Lihula.
It became more and more complicated and there was no way back.
Then I took up a role in 'The Nest of Winds' by Olav Neuland,
playing the leader of forest brothers.
The obvious question arises, how could the Chair of Psychiatry take all this,
considering that I was an assistant professor.
It's none of my business, but they tolerated it until the last drop.
Until they discovered that I had also done some modelling.
Indeed, I was in a modelling film along with others in 1975,
and afterwards, there was a brochure published from this material.
Then the head of the Chair said that you know, Vahing,
you are not sure what social role you find essential.
Aren't you ashamed, worried about your social reputation?
He wanted to suffer, he enjoyed it.
Maybe in order to write about his suffering afterwards,
in a way, he staged his stories and plays and then wrote them down.
Excerpt from short story "Blind and Deaf Saucers"
Meat maybe?
I wouldn't like meat.
Fried fish?
Fish, neither...
You know...
Let's begin with potatoes then. I'll serve them for you.
And you say when there's enough.
Enough.
Go on, potatoes are almost cold anyway, they tend to get blue.
Just potatoes sort of aren't enough. Something is missing.
Bread? White bread... Sauce? - Sauce maybe.
Right, sauce, naturally.
Much sauce, white and bland.
Why aren't you eating? Out of stubbornness?
No, I have no appetite.
What appetite?
I can't eat these air... Air dishes.
Me and these Spiel's. I wasn't interested,
because what's there to play, better talk.
Playing with human psyche in so very complicated way...
I mean, why?
I don't know that. There are that kind of martyr-minded people.
Why in Russia, the religious sufferers wore fetters on bare skin,
so that they were heavy and painful
and why some Muslims whip blood out of their backs.
Towards the end, I wasn't in contact with Vaino too much,
there was no point, all that blabbering and discussing
and some bleeding Freuds and Jungs and so on...
Stepping steps, heavy, heavy, A command: shoot, shoot.
Wind howling, fierce wind, Bullet hits, soul bullet
Mouth searching - a kiss, a kiss, Soul weeping, loyalty, loyalty.
Wind howling, fierce, fierce, Bullet hits, soul, soul.
It's as if he knew that his games with people and thoughts
may not be so great, but rather childish in a sense,
pesky and disgusting in a way, and they bring sorrow.
But he knew very clearly that if there's not that drive towards thought,
then there's nothing left, just an empty potato field.
These are the things I'd take with me from Vahing's world conception.
Everything you do, do it with your own blood, existentially,
play on your existence.
And the other thing is that if you don't care to play on your existence,
then there's nothing, there's emptiness.
25. April 1979, Mati Unt speaking.
I notice that in your fight with harmony, with women, with yourself,
there are overdone moments, luxurious perhaps for yourself, too.
I have discovered that harmony can extend mind
as effectively as a crime or a perversity.
Let me recommend the same for you. I know that you are capable.
You are, even if your routine, your duty, your type is not harmonious,
it's a scream from the bottom of dissonances.
But what is art?
Well, it may be a kind of mental disorder.
All the theatre people, are they healthy or are they sick?
Not everyone would climb to a stage to do such...
But some do all the time,
and as soon as he is on the stage, he is reborn, he is someone else.
So who is he really?
I think that he constantly strived towards it,
towards some kind of light, towards his literature.
In order to do it like no one else has done, to do it in a special way.
He took it very seriously.
He sacrificed himself as a human to literature.
And there, the contradiction occurred.
The human lost this game, this play, this Spiel.
7. October 1984
I wish that a dream would come
and take me to the world of no criticism,
to the world where the whole word is unknown.
To the world where the word and concept of art does not exist.
Art is...
like they say the black holes in space. It swallows.
There are some secrets or forces in a person,
some fuzzy orders requiring to be executed,
trying to construct, build something.
The simplistic Soviet school of art
was about following or reflecting life,
that superficial life.
But art is a tiny chance for the inner mystery of living creature
to manifest itself.
18. May 1972
Instead of a child, give me the Bible.
Any female can give me a son,
but only you can give me the Bible, my love.
I don't give you anything.
I don't have faith, God or fatherly love.
Because they are not given just like that.
At any time,
to anyone,
just in case.
I think I managed to get quite close to him.
And it's in a way tragic, as he was a very difficult person to get close.
But I pretty much picked him open and then left him.
And it was very sad for all of us.
I almost skinned him, and left, and that's not supposed to happen.
This is my guilt, my sin.
But why I left is, of course, his sin. These are the debts.
20. August 1973
It stinks too much here even for me.
Cupboards and pots full of mold, bedclothes reeking of rot.
Why is it so, Vaino?
I think your life is complicated enough,
it does not need to be surrounded with such a decadent environment.
A man's life can be dirty, but his home must be clean.
Dear Vaino,
I'd like to see you in a clean white room again.
Excerpt from the short story "Machiavelli's Letters to His Daughter"
I'm drinking, dear daughter, I'm an alcoholic.
I drink a bottle of wine in a day, sometimes two.
I'm drinking cognac, vodka
I go to work, I drink alone,
as I'm living only in dreams.
Then I become emotional and burst into tears,
you know, in the back room where everything is green.
I cry and talk to you on the green carpet.
Then I feel good and pathetic.
But it doesn't get any easier, not until I get completely drunk...
A sword in one, philosophy in other hand.
And then there is no escape from self-justification,
although I seldom scream.
I scream that I have not beaten your mother,
but there is no one to hear and believe.
In fact, I have written about it before, to you and to others.
But no one believes.
I beat her when you were not born yet, but that's no excuse.
You came later, you brought me spring, summer and autumn
and left me alone in the green room for winter.
Reading these 'Machiavelli's Letters'...
At first, when I was smaller, I read them more like literary fiction.
But now, when father is gone, and I reread them,
I'm reading them with different pain
and tears in my eyes.
He says there that you can't write about pain in ABC book language.
We'll get back to this pain again.
These debts of soul are, in fact, our debts to other people,
and when Vaino had died
and his coffin was brought to the stage of Vanemuine theatre,
then I went to him and apologised for all my unfairness to him,
for all these debts my soul had to him.
And forgave him everything bad he had done to me, his debts.
While living, Vahing is said to be most of all a searcher.
He searched from the very place for the very same thing
that Christian church had searched few thousands of years before him.
He searched the original image and command of the doctrine of love.
He managed to pick his time for leaving. It was on Good Friday.
I don't think it's a coincidence,
I think there are some connections, some interesting connections.
He once said about Jesus and had some thought about this...
About man being an embodiment or parallel of Jesus Christ
and of himself along with all his suffering. There was this.
And I remember him saying once
that he is feeling like Jesus Christ.
He also studied himself,
searched for the reason why he, like God,
has to love everyone else.
Why is he, a loving God, not loved back equally?
In the end of his searches,
I think he understood the impossibility of finding the ultimate love.
An unprecedented loneliness
inside one's soul, an urge to flee.
To flee, but where to?
1. January 1975
I guess it leads to throat cutting,
and I think it's very beautiful.
We set up the blood dishes and we know who we are cutting.
I'm very sure now, as I'm feeling that there are men
against whom my force will not suffice, unless we let the blood to the dishes.
And we pour and make blood sausages!
Don't tell me all the time, dear lad, that you eat white sausage.
Eat blood sausage!
Go to the market, bring a litre!
I'll make a bloodless sausage out of you,
I'll make it! I'll make it.
Violence is truly a grim business. - It is!
It's the only thing that kills.
After the violence, love will begin! Life will begin! Money will begin!
I'm telling you. - Degeneration will begin!
What do I have to tell you? - You do!
I have nothing to tell. - You have! A lot!
Start from where the degeneration begins.
This is where a woman begins, where love begins.
I don't know what to say about that.
Listen, may I drink? May I? I don't want anything like this...
Hey, Vahing... - Don't disturb me now!
I'm drinking to you and if you disturb me, then it's excess.
Excess it is indeed!
I've started to speak in verse. And thank God, the verses saved me.
Cheers! - Thank you.
Let's drink. Let's drink like we used to.
If you don't make up with me,
there will be a terrible scandal outside you.
You shall find your paths, you shall absolve yourself otherwise.
You shall absolve yourself otherwise.
What shall I forgive you?
For I love you, Vahing.